


Awards Season

by taormina



Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: BRIT Awards, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, I may have exaggerated the severity of mark's injury, Interviews, M/M, Porn With Plot, Public Hand Jobs, Smut, Some angst, gary in charge, pre-performance nerves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:42:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4349225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taormina/pseuds/taormina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the night of the Brit Awards 2007, and Mark is finding it extremely difficult to do certain THINGS due to that broken wrist of his. The fact that Gary is being a massive tease about it isn’t really helping, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awards Season

**Author's Note:**

> All interviews in this fic were written by yours truly. Any resemblance to genuine Take That interviews is purely coincidental, and possibly to be blamed on the fact that I have no life.

_Do you know the lyrics of every single Take That song? Did you have a crush on Mark Owen back in the nineties? Are you still listening to 2007’s_ Beautiful World _on repeat? Then scroll no further! Our dazzling reporter met the charming comeback band ahead of their performance at the Brits and asked them the questions that no-one else dared to…_

 **_Interviewer:_ ** _How does it feel to be up for your fifth Brit Award?_

 **_Gary:_ ** _Is it our fifth already? Wow._

 **_Howard:_ ** _It feels amazing to have that much support from fans and critics this far into our careers. It's beyond our wildest dreams. Also, there's lots of free booze at these ceremonies._

 **_Mark:_ ** _Do we know who we're up against tonight?_

 ** _Interviewer:_** _It's_ Patience _versus_ America _by Razorlight,_ Chasing Cars _by Snow Patrol,_ Fill My Little World _by The Feeling, and finally Will Young with_ All Time Love. Quite a good bunch.

 **_Gary:_ ** _Do you know what, I reckon Snow Patrol might do really well tonight._

 **_Jason:_ ** _So do I. Their song is much better than ours!_

 ** _Interviewer:_** _Where will you be putting your shiny new award if you_ do _win tonight? Have you got a special cabinet at home?_

 **_Gary:_ ** _I haven't really thought about it yet. I might just pop it on the fireplace next to the rest of my awards._

 **_Howard:_ ** _Next to your Rear of the Year Award?_

 **_Gary [laughs]:_ ** _Precisely._

 **_Jason:_ ** _I don’t feel comfortable having them on show to be honest with you. Not that I'm not proud of having achieved what we have, but it's just so exhibitionist, do you know what I mean? “Look at me, I'm a mega star!”_

 **_Interviewer:_ ** _What about you, Mark?_

 **_Mark:_ ** _I can't remember where I've put all my other awards if I'm honest._

 **_Jason:_ ** _You can't remember where you've put your Brit Awards?_

 ** _Mark:_** _Well, I_ have _recently moved home, so they must be in a box somewhere. I think. Do you reckon I could ask the nice people at the Brits for new ones if I can't find them anywhere?_

 **_Gary:_ ** _No._

 **_Interviewer:_ ** _Rumour has it that you're bringing out a very special guest tonight..._

 **_Jason [laughs]:_ ** _Are we?_

 **_Gary:_ ** _That's news to me. I mean, God, we were just planning on just standing there and doing our thing tonight, weren't we? I’m worried we won’t be able to meet people’s expectations now!_

 **_Jason:_ ** _The visuals are great, though, tonight._

 **_Howard:_ ** _Yeah.We might try to make it even more exciting by bringing out some stools._

 **_Gary [laughs]:_ ** _Yeah._

 **_Jason:_ ** _Didn't Westlife used to do that?_

 **_Mark:_ ** _Yeah, but they're not nominated for a Brit Award, are they?_

 _The Brit Awards are on at ITV2 at 8 pm tonight. Take That’s new single_ Shine _is out on 26 February._ **•**

++++

Mark knew it was too damn early in the morning to start having bad thoughts about one of his colleagues, but _God_ , Gary looked good today. He was wearing a simple white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and black trousers to match. He was tapping his fingers on his thigh, always writing songs in his head. His hair looked messy and ruffled, like he'd just gotten out of bed. Perhaps he had. He didn't look at all tired, though, which Mark envied: it had taken _him_ two cups of coffee to get from his house to the car that morning, especially with the rough awakening that he’d had.   

He wished he could have spent his waking hours with Gary _properly_ , without having to sit through this managerial excuse of a morning.

Gary caught Mark looking at him, and Mark had to look away, blessing his lucky stars that this interview wasn't being televised. He felt himself grow hotter and hotter as he remembered the previous night.

He became highly aware of the fact that Howard and Jason were sitting next to him. Closely.

Mark tried to sit a little more comfortably, but doing so only made his wrist hurt more. (He’d broken his wrist trying to change a light bulb in his new house. At least, that’s what he told everyone. Everyone but Gary.) Jason shot Mark an annoyed look for accidentally jabbing an elbow into his side, then flashed one of his million dollar smiles at the interviewer. She was very pretty, and Jason liked her very much. So much for professionalism.

_Fuck, this sofa is too small._

Mark hadn't said anything for a while. He had to say something, or Jonathan would think something’s up. 

Nothing was up.

Mark was feeling perfectly fine.

— Apart from how horny Gary was making him feel.

God, how had they ever gotten through their interviews in the nineties?

Their interviews were shit.

‘Yeah, but . . . _they're_ not nominated for a Brit Award, are they?’ said Mark finally, randomly referring to something Jason had said earlier. The remark earned him a laugh from his colleagues, and Mark smiled uncertainly. He wasn’t entirely sure what was so funny about that, but it made Gary laugh, so job well done.

The interviewer tried to ask some questions about their previous performances at the Brits, but the boys had been too shitfaced at the time to remember anything. (Apart from the fact that they once did a Beatles Medley . . . in black and white . . . which Gary was not at all bitter about . . .) The interview thus coming to a rather unexpected halt, the interviewer nervously glanced at the questions she had written down for herself. A question about Robbie that her editor had come up with caught her eye, but before she could say something embarrassing Jonathan had already stepped out of the shadows.

‘That's it from Take That today, I think,’ their manager said, tapping an imaginary watch on his wrist. ‘Tight schedule.’

Gary looked at Mark as if to say “Thank God”, and Mark turned scarlet again.

If the others knew what they had been up to . . .

The boys got up from the leather sofa that had clearly been intended for a three-piece band, and once more shook hands with the now very flustered looking journalist before they headed out. (Not wanting to strain his wrist further, Mark simply bowed at her.) Jason, keen to compliment the interviewer on her extremely pretty dress that he thought complemented her blue eyes very well, lingered; thankfully Howard wisely grabbed Jason's elbow and pulled him away.

Next up was the Chris Moyles Show at eight. The Radio One breakfast show was considerably less bad than doing four interviews for gossip magazines in a row, but they'd really rather be in bed. ( _With each other._ ) Still, they _really_ wanted people to tune in for their performance tonight, and on top of that they had a new single coming out in less than two weeks that Mark was dying to go to number one, so doing promo was pretty much a part of their job descriptions right now.

That didn't mean they enjoyed it, though.

Musically, Take That were super tight. Despite having been back together for only a relatively short amount of time, they knew each other's strengths and weaknesses better than they did their own. Through hard craft and experience, they'd all learned to tolerate Mark showing up half an hour late at recording sessions. They never even asked him for the reasons for his tardiness. It had simply become as common as the day’s first cups of coffee. (Gary, of course, knew better . . .)

They'd more or less perfected dialling the right number for Howard if they needed him to come in to do BVs. Jason's constant flirtatious behaviour around the women at the recording studio was no longer an issue, and probably never had been; at the end of the day, Jason just _radiated_ focus when it came to defending certain songs. Besides, Howard loved seeing him squirm when a girl was having none of it.

Finally, Gary had learned to take a back seat by regularly having a massage across the street while the others tinkered with a new song. He was no longer going to stamp his initials over every single song. If the others wanted to work on a new song without him, he let him.

All in all, they gelled really well.

Doing promo and, more recently, showing up at big events was an entirely different ball game, however. The boys weren't as telepathically linked during interviews as they were in a recording booth, and attending awards ceremonies like the Brits was just a complete and utter nightmare. Jason didn’t feel particularly at ease when twenty cameras were set up to snap their every move on the red carpet. Similarly, Howard got very shy when he was asked to do an interview on his own — which happened _often_. Mark and Gary coped a little bit better, but even _they_ couldn’t shake the out-of-body feeling that they were looking at themselves from a different angle.

One successful comeback tour and a number one album and single down the line, they still felt as though they didn't really belong there. Sometimes the boys even genuinely feared that one day Ant and Dec would show up and tell them that they'd been royally stitched up and that it was all just one giant cock-up. At a large event like tonight's, where mostly young artists dominated the nominations lists, they'd only feel like a fish out of water, reanimated beyond help.

This uneasiness was probably the main reason why Mark and Gary started sleeping together several months ago — that is, apart from the blatant sexual tension that they could no longer pretend wasn’t there whenever they were in one room together. Neither of them were getting much sleep because they were both absolutely terrified of waking up being back where they were before the comeback: Gary, writing mediocre songs for mediocre artists; Mark, finding it hard to cope with the fact that simply no-one was listening to the shit he’d spent so much time on.

Spending the night in the same bed, and, sometimes, waking up in each other's arms in the morning, always kept the nightmares at bay.

++++

_‘You’ve heard it right, people, I'm joined here today by none other than . . . Take That!’ Chris Moyles announced. Jason went “wahey!” Two or three people joined him in a lacklustre applause. ‘How are you doing on this fine Wednesday morning, boys?’_

_‘Good, thank you,’ said Gary. He sounded surprisingly chipper for the time of day. ‘Also, can I just say – I_ love _what you're wearing today,’ he added, not without a hint of irony._

_‘Thank you, Mr. Barlow. It's a Take That shirt from your previous tour, can you believe it?’_

_‘I didn't realize we_ sold _men's shirts,’ Jason admitted._

_‘Neither did I. It's comfy as well. So how did you all sleep last night?’_

_‘Eh?’ Gary squeaked uncharacteristically. Someone – Mark – started coughing._

_‘I mean, you_ are _nominated for a Brit award. Is this something that keeps you up at night?’_

 _‘_ Ah. _Do you know what, it doesn't,’ Gary said, sounding more like his usual self again. Mark could still be heard coughing in the background. ‘We've been feeling really relaxed lately. I mean, we were a bloody mess at events like this back in the nineties,’ he added, pointlessly saying the word “bloody” under his breath because he suddenly remembered he was live on air. ‘I think we were all too off our heads on adrenaline and, uhm, God knows what else to properly enjoy it. It’s much better this time around. Much better.’_

_‘Yeah,’ Mark croaked. He cleared his throat._

_‘We take each day as it comes, don't we, lads?’ said Jason philosophically. ‘If we win, we win; if we don't, we don't.’_

_‘Good one, Jay,’ said Howard._

_‘There's always next year,’ Chris said casually. He then swiftly added, ‘Gary Barlow's just raised his eyebrows suggestively._ Are _there plans for next year?’_

_‘Hang on,’ said Gary defensively, ‘Don’t put words in me mouth, Chris! The year’s only just started!’_

_‘But you_ must _be thinking about getting back on the road again, surely?’_

_‘Gary's just shrugged,’ Howard added, and that was the end of that._

_‘So, then, are these awards ceremonies something that you look forward to? Do they get easier with experience?’ There was a faint shuffling of papers._

_‘I can't remember the last one I've been to, to be honest,’ said Jason._

_‘Me neither,’ said Gary. ‘They stopped inviting me after a while.’_

_‘Was it because they were all jealous of your extraordinary song writing talents?’ Chris suggested._

_‘That must be it,’ said Gary, pondering. And in a mocking voice he added, ‘”We won’t invite that Gary Barlow bloke anymore, we’ll_ never _write anything as good as_ Do What U Like.”’

 _‘I’m a bigger fan of_ I Found Heaven _, personally,’ Chris said._

_Gary. ‘Christ.’_

_‘I don't mind award shows, personally,’ said Howard._

_‘Yeah, me neither,’ said Gary. He sounded distracted. ‘They're quite fun, these things.’_

_‘Finally, what are you looking forward to most tonight?’_

_‘_ Ooh, _performing definitely,’ said Gary. ‘Maybe taking home an award if we get really lucky tonight. But mostly just enjoying each other's company, really. We don’t go out much anymore these days . . .’_

++++

Stepping into the van that would take them to Earl’s Court for yet more interviews and a hopefully successful dress rehearsal, Mark regretted the Radio One interview immediately. He simply hadn't contributed enough. He should've said more instead of letting his colleagues carry the burden of Chris's questions. He should be used to dealing with group interviews by now.

Fucking hell though, Gary was making it harder and harder to concentrate today. Never mind his outfit or that perfect hair of his; this time, it was Gary's _hands_ that were driving Mark wild. He'd always had a thing for Gary's hands – so large and veiny and soft – but this was something else. Gary's hand had crept up Mark's thigh _in the middle of the bloody interview._ It had remained there throughout each question, edging precariously close to Mark's crotch.

Gary didn’t do things like this.

He simply didn’t.

So why now?

It's like Gary was doing it on purpose, knowing full well the state he had left Mark in last night. Was he waiting to see how long it would take Mark to succumb?

Last night, Mark was feeling too anxious about the Brits to be able to paint the living room walls in his new house like he was supposed to. His hands started shaking at the very thought, and he had to sit on his new sofa in his empty living room to calm down and shake the negativity off his shoulders. Logic told him he was being a tit for being so nervous; he was a decent performer, and he’d sang and danced to audiences of over 60,000 people last year — so why was he dreading it so much? It’s not like it was a particularly difficult performance! They weren’t going to get up to weird antics or sing in black and white like they had in the 90s.

Bottling up his feelings until he was too shit scared to show up tomorrow was the last thing he wanted to do, so he called Gary up at eleven to have “a good chat”. Gary came over immediately, and they ended up ordering curry together. They ate, laughed, talked about their fears and reservations, laughed some more, and after having had one or two beers too many, one thing quickly led to another; before they had so much gotten rid of the dirty dishes, Gary had already pinned Mark against the fridge. He proceeded to kiss and fondle Mark like he hadn't seen him for _months_ , and Mark’s anxieties were replaced with primal feelings that were much easier to comprehend.

The kiss was wonderful and deliciously dirty at the same time, and the longer the kiss went on, the more Mark felt at ease and the less he understood why he was being such a nervous wreck. Their hands were wandering all over, unbuttoning shirts and squeezing body parts. Gary kissed Mark’s temples, telling him without words how beautiful he looked that night. Gary’s hard-on was digging into Mark’s thigh. They told each other how much they loved one another over and over. Gary pulled down Mark’s trousers and boxers roughly, and Mark felt a delightful thrill when his arse brushed the cold surface of the fridge.

Gary was in charge that night.

 _Gary_ , who usually preferred it when Mark topped, was in charge.

All of Mark’s Christmases had come at once.

Unfortunately they didn't get much further than kissing and fondling; Gary got a call from a mate who was having a bit of trouble, and off Gary went again with a series of apologetic kisses — stupid, kind-hearted, sort-of-boyfriend that he is.

The ghost of Gary's lips still on his neck and the image of Gary’s half-unbuttoned shirt still on his mind, Mark took a shower and did what one usually does when feeling very aroused.

But alas, it wasn't to be; Mark had a broken wrist, and this was making things very, very complicated. Thus, he went to bed feeling much hornier than he had hoped, and just as nervous as he had been previously.

That night, he dreamed of Gary covering his cock in soap in the shower, fucking him until he could no longer stand. Then the alarm clock sounded.

Fast forward to the red carpet event, and Mark was a walking mess of adrenaline and nerves. They had taken off their own clothes by now (Mark, a striped grey jumper that he may or may not have nicked off Gary; Jason and Howard, simple T-shirts), and were wearing the garments that Luke had selected for them instead: simple black shirts and jackets. The outfits were doing a very good job at making the boys look better than they felt.

As predicted, the red carpet event didn’t proceed brilliantly: they weren’t really looking into the right cameras, Howard fucking _hated_ his low V-neck t-shirt and wanted to burn it, Jason’s answers were often too philosophical and articulate for the journalists to keep up with, and Mark spent too much time talking to one reporter to make up for not contributing enough earlier.

It was all a fucking shambles, really. Their promotional visit to foreign countries over the weekend went much better in comparison, and the journalists _there_ didn’t even pick up on the boys’ dry humour most of the time!

To make matters worse, Gary kept staring at Mark throughout his solo interviews.

As in, _staring._ Bedroom eyes and everything.

On the red carpet.

At first Mark thought Gary was telling him to hurry the fuck up (he _was_ going on and on a bit), but then Gary came over and put his hand on Mark’s hip off camera. Mark proceeded to flush a dark red while he was telling the patient journalist about the tour they may or not be planning.

‘I, er, we’d love to go back on tour again, you know,’ Mark stammered. Gary was standing so close that he could smell his aftershave, earthy and spicy and God damn sexy. Mark dug his nails into his palms to stop himself from remembering how his shirt still smelled of Gary that morning. ‘We – we had an amazing reception on the last tour, so . . . yeah. Fingers crossed.’

Gary – the – bastard – meanwhile pretended that his hand had _not_ just slipped further down Mark’s hip by casually hinting that there may be an announcement being made soon.

This behaviour was _so_ not like Gary, Mark thought. Gary got off on being sneaky and secretive, and would rather die than be caught in public doing something appropriate to one of his colleagues; flirting in public, therefore, was a definite no-no.

Had he been drinking?

The journalist asked them a simple question about the music video for _Shine_ that had premiered a couple of weeks ago. Gary answered it, and Mark took that as an opportunity to take a good look at him.

Definitely not drunk.

_Oh shit._

The journalist was too busy scribbling notes to notice anything peculiar, and she thanked the boys profusely when they finally left.

She also didn’t notice that Mark’s legs were wobbling. 

++++

‘Hey, Gaz, are you feeling awright?’ Mark casually asked Gary an hour later. They’d been doing more promotional bits and bobs throughout the day – including recording a series of “fun” clips that were to be shown in the venue during ITV’s excessive commercial breaks – and Mark and Gary were finally on their own. More or less.

They were walking down a long corridor, James trailing closely behind them in case they got attacked by a member of some jealous indie band. Howard and Jason were talking to a nice man from a popular music website elsewhere. The questions ‘But who was responsible for the middle eight of _Shine_?’ and ‘Your music is quite anthemic these days; will we ever see you pen a track for a motion picture?’ were a step-up from the usual “journalistic” drivel they got thrown at them.

Mark looked behind him. James had his “Don’t mind me; I’m not listening to a word you’re saying” face on.

‘You’re acting a bit strange,’ Mark quietly pointed out. He really wasn’t sure how to react to Gary’s flirtatious behaviour.

Gary just shrugged. He waved at Lily Allen, who was standing in a corner talking to someone. James eyed her warily. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, to be honest, mate,’ he replied a little too quickly. His _Heartbeat_ training hadn’t done Gary any good.

‘I mean,’ Mark said, oblivious to Gary’s bad acting, ‘With – with your hand on my leg at Radio One? And earlier?’ He jerked his head to the side. ‘At the red carpet? What was that all about?’

It’s not that Mark minded the touching and the longing stares — it’s just that one, Gary didn’t _do_ touching and longing stares unless they were behind closed doors, and two, there wasn’t a single thing Mark could do to relieve himself off his ever-growing sexual frustration because they were in the middle of doing promo and _because he had broken his fucking wrist during a sexual act in the first place._

This either meant that Gary had somehow become mad in his thirst for yet another Brit Award to put on his fireplace, or that he was fucking with Mark on purpose.

He wasn’t sure which was worse, really.

All Mark knew was that he would probably suck Gary dry right. here. if there weren’t people all around them.

 _Fuck_ , Mark was horny.

Did we mention he was horny?

Gary pushed open a door. They entered yet another corridor, and a famous journalist from the BBC practically jumped them.

‘Like I said,’ said Gary before they sat down to start yet another interview, one for the BBC homepage this time. He looked Mark up and down slowly – deliberately –, and Mark felt his stomach twist and turn. _Fuck_.

_Gary was definitely fucking with him._

‘I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about,’ Gary said finally, every word blatantly dripping with dishonesty. His eyes were shining with mischief.

The journalist grabbed his recorder but didn’t turn it on. ‘How’s that broken wrist of yours, Mark?’ he asked, looking at the bandage on Mark’s wrist.

‘Broken,’ said Mark flatly. He was beginning to feel properly sexually frustrated now. Perhaps he’d hop into a restroom and find a clean towel to rub himself up against.

The journalist frowned. ‘Must be a real pain in the arse, I bet.’

Mark stared at Gary, who pushed his tongue inside his cheek when the journalist wasn’t looking. ‘Indeed.’

++++

Another sexually laden interview and a mostly successful dress rehearsal later, the boys took their places at the table that had been specially arranged for them — wine and all. Mark and Gary still hadn’t had a decent conversation since last night, and Mark was becoming more and more convinced that Gary was torturing him because he was in the perfect position to do so.

The lights went out to mark the beginning of the ceremony. The fans that had managed to grab free tickets for the event screamed and cheered eagerly. Our boys sat a little straighter.

Mark, especially, felt as though the whole world had come out to watch them, waiting for him to make a mess of things. Never mind the audiences that he had performed to last year — if he cocked up tonight, thousands upon thousands of people would see it. Worse still, if he looked at Gary in the wrong way tonight, yet more would scrutinize him for it.

He wasn’t sure if his heart could bear it.

Perhaps for different reasons, Jason looked as anxious as Mark felt; he was smiling, but his smile did not extend to his eyes. Every time a camera appeared before him, he held on to his glass of wine a little tighter. He seemed to shrink in the spotlights rather than be illuminated by them, and Mark wondered why they hadn’t just stayed home that day.

 _Because of_ Shine _,_ Mark thought. _And_ Patience _. **Especially**_ Patience. _They were here because they had music that needed listening to. A yet-to-be-announced that people needed to start asking questions about._

Still — _They were old now! What are they doing here surrounded by new talent?_

Howard, similarly, looked thoroughly uncomfortable to be there. He was drinking more than usual that night, and at one point Jason had to tell him to stop before he got too drunk to remember the lyrics of _Patience_.

The only person that Mark couldn’t get a read on was Gary, frustratingly so. He just _oozed_ calmness and charm tonight, which didn’t seem at all fair after all the shit he had put Mark through today. Had he really not stopped to think that touching Mark in the middle of an interview _meant_ something? That it was driving him wild to the point of no return and that there wasn’t a single thing that Mark could do about it?

Evidently, Mark’s frustration showed. Yet another commercial break started, and Gary took the quick break as an opportunity to talk to Mark while everyone else in the room was preoccupied ordering more drinks. Howard and Jason were too busy talking about whether _Rehab_ or _Love Is A Losing Game_ was the best song on _Back To Black_ to notice anything as well.

Gary gently touched Mark’s arm to get his colleague’s attention. His hand stayed there a little bit longer than it should. ‘You all right, mate?’ Gary asked him as though he had not been annoyingly flirting with him all day.

Mark rolled his eyes. ‘What do you _think_?’ he said. He didn’t want to get mad at Gary while there were keen journalists all around them – he never got angry much at all, really –, but he was horny and nervous and _God, he would rather have a good shag than win that award right now._ ‘If you’re going to be a fucking tease at least do it when we’re not running around all day doing interviews.’

Mark decided not to say anything about Gary’s hand on his arm.

‘So you’ve noticed,’ Gary pointed out. A smug grin was playing on his lips.

‘Of course I’ve noticed!’ Mark exclaimed. He sounded annoyed rather than angry. A cameraman came over and started filming them. Mark averted his face and lowered his voice. ‘You know I can’t jerk meself off properly, don’t ya?’

The cameraman left to film someone else, and Gary moved his hand to Mark’s knee underneath the table. ‘Suppose I just really like seeing you so hot and bothered.’ His hand started moving up Mark’s leg, but this time Gary didn’t stop — he palmed Mark’s cock through the fabric of his trousers, and Mark had to bite his lip to stop himself from moaning.

They were actually going to do this, weren’t they?

‘I – I thought you weren’t into this sorta stuff,’ Mark stammered. His cheeks were burning. He didn’t think he could get harder than he already was right now.

Gary licked his lips. He waited, and then said, ‘Maybe I’ve wanted a change of pace.’

Mark’s brain was still stuck thinking about the fact that _Gary had his hand on his cock in the middle of a sold-out Earls Court._

‘Suppose I’ve just had enough of sneaking around,’ Gary added, and that seemed to put the wheels of Mark’s thoughts back into motion.

Gary, it would seem, finally felt comfortable enough to push his boundaries, which in his case _did_ involve public touching. Teasing. Looking at each other when they shouldn’t even be talking to each other. Seeing how long he could test Mark until he lost control.

It’s a side of Gary that Mark had been wanting to see for ages.

Mark decided he liked this “change of pace” a lot.

‘You _sure_ , though, Gary?’ Mark asked Gary just in case. He didn’t want Gary to do something he didn’t feel thoroughly comfortable with. He knew how anal (!) he could be about doing things by the book. ‘I swear to God, Gary, if you’re going to leave me hangin’ again—’

But Gary had already gotten up. ‘You’ve been a good boy long enough today, c’mon,’ he whispered into Mark’s ear.

Mark wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to get up from his chair.

++++

_Take That beat all the odds last year by releasing their best-selling album yet — despite having been gone from the music industry for more than ten years. How do they feel about their immense success four months down the line?_

**_How would you sum up the last few months in one word?_**  
_Mental._ **H**  
Amazing. **G**  
Bold. **M  
** Life-affirming. Actually, I'm not so sure whether that's one word or not. Can I choose another? **J**

 ** _You released your album_** **Beautiful World** _in November. Looking back at it now, what is the song you’re most proud of?_  
Wooden Boat. **H**  
I’d Wait For Life _. It’s the first song we wrote as a four-piece, that was._ **G**  
Shine _, for me, I think. **M**  
I don’t want to say_Wooden Boat _because it’ll make me sound like I’m full of myself. But yeah,_ Wooden Boat. _J_

 ** _Who would you like to meet most at the awards ceremony tonight?_**  
_Amy Winehouse._ **J  
** Amy for me too. What a voice. **G**

 **_Your next single Shine features Mark on lead vocals. Do you still have nightmares about Mr. Blobby?  
_ ** _Every night._ **M**

 ** _You're performing in front of a multimillion audience tonight. What do you do to get ready for a performance?_**  
_I really like giving everyone a hug. I love a good hug, me._ **G**  
_I usually take a big [dump]. **H  
** I get quite superstitious about these things. On our last tour, if I didn't do the same thing every single night I'd get really worried that I'd fall off a big step or something. But these days I usually just brush my teeth before the curtains go up. **M** **•**_

++++

A long walk later, Gary pulled Mark into a curtained-off section of the venue. They had somehow managed to avoid walking into fellow artists, fans, and journalists. Both their heart rates matched the rhythm of the song that was playing in the background, thumping faster and faster.

The commercial break had stopped a long time ago.

They were expected to perform in ten minutes.

Ten. Minutes.

The deserted part of the building was filled to the brim with old instruments and stereo installations that were starting to gather dust, undoubtedly too broken to still work. The place was dirty and badly lit, but it would have to do; it was the closest thing to a secret hideaway that Gary could find, and he wasn’t going to spend more time not being able to put his hands on Mark.

Mark had a vague idea where this was going, but still, it went against everything that Gary stood for; Gary, Mark knew, was _strongly_ against public sex. He just didn’t want to do it, no matter how horny they both were. Even after they’d shagged in some faraway hotel, Gary was terrified about them being spotted together. This usually meant that Gary left at three in the morning, leaving Mark to pick up the mess of where they left off in the morning. Only when they were one hundred percent sure that they were not surrounded by paparazzi and fans did they dare spend their mornings together.

However, Mark happily deduced, it would seem that Gary had left his reservations at the door; Gary effortlessly lifted Mark on top of a large speaker set with his strong arms, and Mark had an inkling that their nightly visits were about to become a lot more careless.

He really, really liked this new Gary.

Mark immediately wrapped his legs around Gary’s back, pulling him closer and closer until they were mere inches away from each other. He wasn’t going to let Gary leave anytime soon. Not this time.

‘You’ve made me so fucking horny, you bastard,’ said Mark unceremoniously before he planted his lips on Gary’s. He didn’t wait to check whether they were really alone or not. He didn’t care about how frustrating Gary had made him feel anymore. He’d been waiting for this moment long enough to stop giving a shit about anything; including whether a journalist caught them kissing or not.

He’d been waiting for this moment long before Gary’s hand had slithered up his thigh this morning.

Gary returned the kiss with much enthusiasm, wandering hands and all. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the sounds of his surroundings, allowing himself to be wholly overwhelmed with desire. For a few seconds or more, the crowd that was anticipating their performance didn’t even seem real anymore. The journalists that had been pelting them with questions all day long were worlds away. All that Gary cared about in that moment was Mark. All he cared about was the way Mark kissed, so gently and softly, and so perfectly paced.

Predictably, the kiss didn’t remain gentle for very long. The tip of Gary’s tongue slipped into Mark’s mouth, and Mark gasped in response, allowing Gary further access. It was a pleasant change of scenery, for Gary usually wasn’t so bold this early on; most of the time it was Mark who took the initiative to take things just that tiny bit further. Mark had probably been the first to initiate a kiss during one of their nightly bonding sessions all those months ago.

Still, Gary must really, _really_ want this, Mark thought, and he wondered whether Gary had had the same dream that night.

Gary _did_ want it, indeed; he grabbed Mark’s black tie, pulling him closer still. He sucked Mark’s tongue, and more sounds escaped Mark’s mouth — half inadvertently, half because Mark knew how much it turned Gary on when he was vocal in bed. _God,_ Gary loved it when Mark was vocal in bed.

‘Oh, _Mr Barlow_ ,’ Mark deliberately moaned into Gary’s ear. He lifted up his hips, the obvious bulge in his trousers brushing Gary’s crotch now.

They were going to be in so much trouble if they missed their cue tonight.

‘You desperate slut,’ Gary said huskily. ‘You love it when I tease you, don’t you, Mark?’

‘ _Shit,_ yes.’ Mark was fucking hard for Gary already, and it took Gary every bit of his self-control not to fuck him on the spot.

Gary’s lips moved to Mark’s neck. He sucked and bit and licked the sensitive spot under Mark’s ear, and Mark whimpered under his touch. It left Mark’s sensitive skin red, marking him.

‘ _Oh,_ ’ Mark whimpered while Gary licked his ear with the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t a deliberate moan this time. The gesture was so simple, so soft, yet deliciously arousing; it made Mark grasp the back of Gary’s black shirt with his left hand, wanting the piece of clothing off, off, off. He rubbed his crotch against Gary’s, harder and more desperately than before, wordlessly telling him how much he wanted him. And _God_ , did he want him: Mark wanted nothing more than for Gary to pleasure him, for him to effortlessly elevate him to orgasm like he knew he could. He’d been waiting long enough.

Footsteps passed their hiding place. Mark imagined a journalist catching them in the act.

He wished he could see what they both looked like right now.

‘How about I jerk you off, eh?’ said Gary. He pulled Mark’s earlobe with his teeth. ‘Would you like that? Hm?’

‘Fuck, yes, Gary, please.’

Gary ran his finger up and down Mark’s clothed hard-on. ‘Sorry, mate, I didn’t quite hear that.’

Gary wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted a change of pace.

‘Please, Gary,’ Mark pleaded deliberately, seeing how much Gary got off on it, ‘I want you so badly.’

Gary hummed in satisfaction. He unzipped Mark’s black trousers with steady hands and pulled Mark’s already-glistening cock free. Gary could probably never get tired of that sight, of Mark’s cock, so big and so thick, and so perfectly fitted to Gary’s hands. And then there was that dolphin tattoo of his, colourful and inviting and positioned just right.

He _did_ always have a thing for tattoos.

‘Bet you’ve been gagging for this all day.’ Gary rubbed his thumb over Mark’s cock teasingly, and Mark let out a delicious moan, his mouth opened in a perfect ‘O’. It felt amazing; nothing could have prepared Mark for how amazing Gary’s hands would feel on his body after such a long and frustrating wait.

Gary repeated the motion. Mark’s hips twitched. Drops of sweat ran down Mark’s neck into his shirt. His hair fell in strands onto his face. It was a bit longer than usual; long enough for Gary to tug at while Mark went down on him.

Gary _really_ loved it when Mark went down on him.

Spurred on by the thought, Gary spat on his hand and started pumping his fist up and down Mark’s shaft — _slowly_. More moans, and Gary could feel his own cock twitch in his trousers.

‘Christ, you’re sexy when you’re turned on,’ Gary told him.

Mark smiled in response, his eyes half-closed and his head tilted back. His mind raced back to the dream he’d had last night, right after Gary left; the dream of Gary jerking him off in the shower. Of Gary turning him over and fucking him against the shower wall. Gary started pumping a little faster, and Mark imagined Gary doing so underneath a torrent of hot water, both their bodies wet and slick and covered in soap.

He felt a familiar sensation build in his stomach, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long tonight.

‘You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. Barlow,’ he said, sounding out of breath. Wanting to demonstrate just how hot Mark thought Gary looked tonight, his uninjured hand slithered from Gary’s back to the front of his trousers. His right hand remained on the speaker set. He wondered if he could still let Gary lose control tonight.

However tempting, Gary was quick to slap Mark’s away.

‘Not now, later,’ Gary purred, and he kissed Mark apologetically. He didn’t want Mark to pleasure him now, not here — and preferably not using any hands at all. He wanted it later, at the hotel, with Mark’s hands tied behind his back with that black tie of his, looking all hot and sweaty, and possibly high on adrenaline after their win tonight. Gary could wait. Gary could always wait.

Mark didn’t mind one bit; if anything, having to wait to get re-acquainted with Gary’s body only seemed to arouse him more.

Gary was super sexy when he was in charge.

And then — ‘I’m not going to leave you out of my sight until I’ve fucked that pretty mouth of yours at the hotel, Mark.’

Gary. Dirty talk.

_Fuck, that turned him on._

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck_

Mark’s breathing was becoming more erratic. His moans, longer and louder.  

Gary kissed him again; he tasted of red wine and smelled of aftershave.

_God, that smell._

Mark’s legs started shaking involuntarily. He wrapped himself around Gary’s body yet more tightly, holding on for dear life.

He could hear the crowd – so far, far away now – applaud something.

Someone would come pick them up at their table and find it half-empty.

He dug his nails into the naked skin just above Gary’s belt, and pain shot through Mark’s wrist.

Mark’s cock was throbbing. Pre-cum covered Gary’s long fingers.

And then there was _that_ feeling.

‘Oh shit, Gary,’ Mark whimpered. His eyes were shut tight. His forehead rested against Gary’s chest. He was close. So close. ‘I’m gonna . . . ‘

‘Yes, Mark,’ said Gary huskily, turned on by how incredibly beautiful and erratic Mark became under his touch. His own boxers were starting to get quite wet, and Gary bit his lips to fight the urge to touch himself. ‘C’mon, Mark, honey, come for me.’

That did it.

Gary continued pumping up and down, his hand slick with saliva and pre-cum, and Mark came all over their shirts with a series of whimpered sweet-nothings and swear words. Mark collapsed into Gary’s arms, and Gary held him tightly while Mark tried to catch his breath.

Mark quite liked awards ceremonies now.

‘It’s a good thing we’re not wearing all-black,’ said Mark after his breathing had slowed down.

‘We could say it’s toothpaste,’ Gary suggested. He kissed Mark’s forehead.

‘Hm.’ Mark hummed. He was lazily stroking Gary’s back, lost in thought.

Neither of them were in a hurry to get back to their table. Getting back to their table just meant going back into the spotlight and having to pretend everything was all right for two hours. At least here, tangled up in each other’s arms, Mark high on the best handjob he’d had in a long time (well, the best handjob since Gary had last jerked him off, anyway; Gary _was_ very good with his hands), they didn’t have to pretend anymore.  

‘It was just a one-off, wasn’t it, this . . . public . . . _thing_?’ Mark added. He wouldn’t mind eloping from public events more often, but he knew how obsessed Gary could get about keeping everything a secret.

Gary scratched the back of his head. ‘Yeah. Maybe. I dunno. Suppose next time I could pick a place that’s less filthy, _Christ_ ,’ he added as if he had only just noticed his surroundings. There were imprints of dust all over the back off Mark’s thighs. Luke was going to be _vivid._ ‘Get off that thing,’ he said, and he helped Mark off the speaker set. ‘Restrooms next time, I think.’

There was going to be a next time.

Mark casually tucked himself back in. ‘Not sure ‘bout you performing with that hard-on, though, Gary.’

Gary hadn’t thought about that. He looked down. ‘Ah. Fuck. You’re right, mate; it _could_ be quite awkward, performing like that. Some people might notice.’ He looked up shyly. ‘Erm, I don’t suppose . . . Could you . . .?’

But Mark had already started towards the corridor. He wasn’t going to let this chance to get back at Gary go. ‘Got a broken wrist, remember?’ he said, holding up his hands as though trying to say “What’re you gonna do about it?”

‘But . . .’

‘Bye, Gary,’ said Mark, a devilish grin on his face before he disappeared behind the curtain.


End file.
